


Intimacy

by hey_malarkey



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (in the good way), Anal Sex, Body Image, Body Worship, Bondage, Consensual bondage, Crying, Crying During Sex, Hickies, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Making Love, Minimal Prep, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, intimacy issues, it's okay ford will love it for u, just a hell of a decade imagine the worst stuff, praising, slight BDSM, stan love yourself gdi, stan was a prostitute at some point, stan's tragic backstory, vs fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_malarkey/pseuds/hey_malarkey
Summary: Stan isn’t comfortable with intimacy. He can fuck all day long, but once there’s feelings attached and people to consider and something at stake? He’s more than uncomfortable. Pushing his body to the breaking point is familiar. Allowing Ford to be the one to do it is as intimate as he can stand.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines
Comments: 5
Kudos: 66





	Intimacy

Stan isn’t comfortable with intimacy. He can fuck all day long, but once there’s feelings attached and people to consider and something at stake? He’s more than uncomfortable. So he shoves intimacy into categories he’s already familiar with when Ford fucks him, he asks for it hard, fast, as much as Ford can give him. Pushing his body to the breaking point is familiar. Allowing _Ford_ to be the one to do it is as intimate as he can stand.

He’s squirrely when Ford wants to be casually together. Holding hand or leaning against one another or allowing him first pick on the fish at dinner even though he fixed it.

He wants it, he wants all of it, but it’s so unfamiliar, so new, he almost can’t stand the gentleness.

So he lets Ford take him hard and fast. He welcomes the bruises on his hips and neck and body the next morning. The soreness aching through him, standing and feeling joints pop and creak and scratches from fingernails dug into skin starting to scab over, catching on his undershirt as he gets dressed.

\- 

Sometimes Stan has to _encourage_ this treatment. Egg Ford on. Tell him, “I ain’t that fragile, Ford, you’re not gonna break me—“and grab him by the ass and pull him down into a kiss filled with teeth bumping but it’s painful and hot and Stan feel’s Ford’s interest growing and he knows he looks like the slut ~~he used to be~~ he is when he continues, “ _give it to me_.” And Ford abandons carding a hand through Stan’s hair in favor for prepping him, minimally at Stan’s insistence, masking it as impatience.

“I ain’t got— _ah_ —al-all day, Sixer— _shit_ —come on!”

-

Sometimes if Stan isn’t sure if he can push Ford like that he’ll start feeling him up like it was more impersonal than that. Make it fast, make it good. He gets down on his knees and sucks Ford off and Ford grips his hair and thrusts into Stan’s mouth and it’s painful and Stan can’t stop the tears that well in his eyes but he loves being used and being useful and he may be an old dog but the old tricks still work and Ford is better than any John he ever had because something about that six-fingered grip makes it better.

He hasn’t told Ford about “the good old days” because he knows Ford would be torn up about it, the way Ford is torn up about Stan dropping random memories as they come to him. He remembered those days on his own and he kept them to himself to avoid the pity, the _looks_ , the things Ford would try and do and say to apologize or help him or whatever.

It wasn’t worth it. And Ford’s head may just explode from feeling so much at once.

No, better to keep it a secret. And to let himself get face-fucked and not ask for something in return when Ford is too blissed out to reciprocate, despite his groggy protests. Getting himself off while dreaming of Ford was something familiar, too, after all. Something he could handle.

-

Tonight they’re about to fuck. They showered after dinner and Stan didn’t take his teeth out yet. Ford had slapped his ass after dinner and winked. Stan had smirked back. That was all the confirmation needed.

No unnecessary conversations, just men of a few words and a hot few minutes.

Stan decided to jump start the night as soon as Ford met him in their cabin. To not give Ford time to give him one of those _looks_ of-of, shit, Stan didn’t even know. He couldn’t compute the way Ford looked at him sometimes. It was almost like _adoration_ and Stan couldn’t handle that so he did what he could to skip straight to the “lust-fueled” gazes.

He grabbed Ford by the hips and leaned in close, mouthing at his neck before growling out, “Give me everything you got, Sixer. _I need it_.”

It was the closest he could come to saying how much he needed Ford. He needed the sex, he needed to be pounded into, he needed to know it was just real enough. He wanted the physical evidence tomorrow of something sticky between his thighs and a sore back and the exact way Ford marked his collar bone that could be seen by the open shirts Stan tended to wear. He couldn’t tell Ford he loved him, but he could say he needed what he could give.

Ford circled Stan’s wrists like shackles. _Finally_ , Stan thinks. Ford moves the hands off his hips and pushes Stanley backward, towards the mattress. Stan follows eagerly. He hadn’t gotten dressed in anything but boxers after his shower, but Ford had. His brother was dressed in a button up and flannel pajama bottoms, going barefoot. He feels the buttons of Ford’s shirt pressing against him.

Ford leaned him down none-too-gently and adjusted Stan so his hands were above him on the bed. This exposed his torso in a way he wished he could hide, but the look in Ford’s eye looked a bit crazy, so he hoped Ford wouldn’t focus on him for too long.

“Can I tie you down, Stan?” Ford asks and Stan nods, watching the spark in Ford’s eyes flare and it’s such an intense, steely look that he has to look away. He can’t say no to Ford. He can push and prod and poke his brother on but he can’t say _no_ to him. He’s been tied down before and it was always a brutal session. He hopes the same from Ford as he pulls the strap he wears around his chest out from the side table’s drawer and attaches Stan’s wrists to the bed frame with them.

\- 

It wasn’t quick.

It was brutal.

And it absolutely _destroys_ Stan.

-

Ford tied Stan down and slowly began touching every inch of him. Trailing gentle hands and gentler lips over every single part of Stan. Stan closed his eyes and squirmed and strained against his bonds but it was no use. Ford stroked across his body and rubbed small circles into his hips, his cheeks, the underside of his knees, his feet. Ford mouthed down his jaw and gave butterfly kisses to every point on his face. He carded through his hair with soothing strokes and over his belly and his fingers tangled into the hair and Stanford gently scratched him, sending goosebumps out across his body and Stan was shaking, overloaded by the absolute _adoration_ Ford had for him.

“W-what are you doing?” he asked early on, head turned away and eyes shut, as if it were as simple as not seeing what was happening would make it stop.

“ _I’m giving you everything I got_ , _Stanley_ ,” Ford replied, taking a breath in between working down Stan’s jaw and neck, hands rubbing comfortingly against him. 

“That’s not— _ah!_ —th-that’s not how we— _oh god, ohh—_ not how we go, F-Ford!” Stanley managed out, trying to swallow his moans, still not looking at his brother as he pulled these sensations out of him.

He didn’t see Ford’s face change but he felt his brother’s grip tighten and then release, then begin kneading against his hips. “We’re doing it my way, tonight, Stan. And I’m going to love _every inch_ of you, the way I’ve wanted to from the beginning.”

And after that Stan could coax no more answers out of Ford except to be kissed with tenderness, to be caressed, to be cared for. Stan tried bucking, tried pushing a knee between Ford’s legs but Ford gently pushed him down and steadied his hips and only after long, long minutes of Ford _making love_ to Stan’s body did he actually remove the boxer shorts between them.

Stan could feel the light scratch of Ford’s pajama bottoms and the slight tug of his cotton shirt or the buttons as Ford roamed across his body. He could feel every individual kiss made to his gross, hairy old self. He could sense the absolute devotion Ford had to his goal. He could feel love well up inside him even as he felt confusion tearing down at that love.

He felt himself growing harder and harder as Ford touched him.

He could feel Ford reacting the same way, to only touching Stan.

Ford mouthed at Stan’s thighs and reached with one hand to cup his balls and Stan had long ago given up on keeping in the sounds he was dying to release. He was sweating and leaking pre-come and his entire body was trembling as Ford got closer to his dick, dropping down further, suddenly, to suck his balls into his mouth and Stan felt his toes curl and his hands grasp at the frame and his head was still turned to the side and his eyes were shut tightly but his mouth was running on like it always did, on autopilot almost, reacting to Ford and Ford’s mouth and Ford’s fingers and _Ford what are you doing_ —

Ford leaned back, and Stan could hear those nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, the small _scritch_ sound of flannel against leg hair of him removing his pants, folding them probably, but throwing them on the wood floor.

“ _Shh_ ,” Stanford said, moving so he was over Stan again. Stan could feel the heat between them, could feel his dick throbbing and longing to be touched. He allowed himself to feel that longing for more than a brutal twist of a wrist or suck or pump. He wanted what Ford could give him. He wanted what Ford was offering. He still didn’t look up.

He didn’t look up even as Ford began talking again, listing everything he loved about Stan. His weird habits, his looks, his skills. His ability to read a room, to turn a phrase, to make money in simply absurd ways. His dedication, his loyalty, his stubbornness. His handsome face, his amazing body, his cracking old-man back. He heard all of these words wash over him and was moaning again, unable to handle the waves of compliments. He shook his head and kept his eyes closed, even as he felt— _oh god oh god oh god—_

He felt Ford bring their bodies together, Ford’s dick grinding against his, a hand stroking them both together. Ford was still talking. Ford couldn’t stop talking. His voice got higher pitched and his sweat dripped down and hit Stanley on his face, his neck, his chest, as Ford rocked against him, leaning back down to kiss him in between words gasped and shared and

Stan finally came. He screamed with it, screamed into Ford’s mouth as Ford swallowed the sound and let his tongue explore his mouth and Stan was crying and he didn’t know how long he’d been crying just that the tears on his face were mixing with the salty sweat Ford was dropping and he finally opened his eyes as he was coming down from that high, not realizing his brother had come with him, but was stroking him through it, oversensitized and still trembling with emotions and feelings and _intimacy, honest intimacy_ and Stan felt the tears return.

He turned his head up and saw the sweat and tears were mixing on Ford’s face and dropping down onto his own and his brother was shaking too as he laid his body on the bed beside Stan’s, reaching up to undo the restraints and Stan brought his arms down carefully.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Stan still processing every word, every action, wanting to deny he deserved them, wanting to pretend that it hadn’t happened, except—

Why pretend? Why keep going back to the familiar when Ford tried to show him the familiar was _nothing_ compared to how he felt? Why shy away?

Stan couldn’t speak. He was exhausted. He couldn’t think. He-he just needed to rest.

He turned his head and saw Ford staring at him, eyes wide and mouth open, but unsure.

His brother looked so _wrong_ like that. Ford always knew what to do.

Slowly, Stan reached one hand over grip Ford’s. He turned his body so he could enfold Ford in a hug with the other, leaning in to snuggle just below Ford’s chin.

He didn’t speak. He felt Ford return his grip and not speak either.

They’d…they’d have a lot to say tomorrow, probably.

But for the night, Stan slept. Curled into his lover’s arms after the first, true piece of closeness he’d allowed himself to have in years.

-

Stan isn’t comfortable with intimacy. But…

He thinks he could learn to be. He knows all about old dogs and new tricks. Ford is an old love but they’ve been given a second, new life. He burrowed himself to Ford’s chest and let himself believe in the potential of _love_ and _them_ and _intimacy_ outside of the narrow boxes he’d created.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if I missed something while tagging or over-tagged. I always forget SOMETHING I feel y'know?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it as much as I did while writing. Love these two screwed up old men. Shout about the stans with me if you want, I'm always down :D


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